


how could anything bad ever happen to you?

by roseweasley



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Modern Westeros, Past Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/pseuds/roseweasley
Summary: Jon Snow and Sansa Stark find themselves both in King's Landing. Sansa works for Petyr Baelish at The Vale, a high profile PR company, and goes by the name Alayne. They meet for the first time in years, and Jon is determined to take Sansa home to the North for good.





	1. and for a moment i forget to worry

**Author's Note:**

> Can you belieeeeve? 
> 
> It's me!! I'm back. Yay! Unlike Sweet Creature, this fic is going to be very angsty. Sansa and Jon are cousins. Yes, it's a Modern Westeros. Yes, I like to bend the rules. This chapter is all about mystery!! Lots will be explained in the next chapter. I'm not going to give it away, you will all just have to wait ;)

 

It was late. She stabbed the home button on her phone, wincing when she saw the time. Half past midnight, it would be too late to take the train home. Seven save her if she rode with the crowd who would be gathered on them at this time of night. That meant another fifty crowns spent on a car home. Petyr wouldn’t mind, she knew he liked when she stayed late. It gave him an excuse to wear her down, his charms always fell nicer when he wore her down.

Her phone started buzzing with a fury, or perhaps it just _sounded_ like it—Gods, was she ever tired of the late-night phone calls—she answered it without looking at her screen. She knew who it was, or she thought she did— “ _Yes?_ ”

“Whoa.” The voice was Northern, though. It sounded like all of those nights when they would stay up too late, Robb and Jon sneaking cigarettes by the heart tree, Sansa sneaking out to meet whichever boyfriend happened to fancy her at the moment. It twisted her gut to think about those days, she wasn’t that girl anymore. “Erm—” he coughed, she could see it, the way he covered up his mouth with his fist, always polite. “Sansa, it’s me.”

There was a time she would’ve hung up. She would’ve said ‘ _Who is “me”?_ ’ But there was no fight left in her. She bore no ill will towards him, she never had, when she thought about it. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I thought it would be someone else.” She paused. “How did you get this number?”

“Does it matter?” It didn’t, but they both knew that. There was no one to hide from anymore. Not really. Mum and dad were dead. Robb was dead. Arya was gods-only-know-where. Bran and Rickon were living in the Neck, attending a private school.

“What—what’s this about?”

“I’m in King’s Landing.” She inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around her phone.

“So?” She asked breathlessly.

“I—” His voice broke, and for a moment she felt regret. The moment was short lived, when she remembered how she had to survive. She had to move on. “I wanted to see you.”

That shocked her. She remembered a time when she had felt the same. How it would’ve been so sweet to see him again. Once she had imagined his stoic face betraying a small smile at their reunion. That was before she became Alayne. Alayne didn’t have a family.

“Sansa?” He paused. “Meet me at the Dragon Pit.”

How he knew she would come, she had no idea. The certainty in his voice stirred something in her. Affection? Trust? Emotions that she had shoved so far down that they threatened to burst out of her.

If she had to pay for a car anyway, she might as well. Would he even recognize her? Sometimes when she looked too closely in the mirror, she didn’t even recognize herself. Her hair was dark now, so brown it was almost black. The auburn was starting to show through, her roots betrayed her. The bangs her stylist insisted upon were a stark, angular contrast to her cheekbones. It made her look colder, or perhaps that was just the way she carried herself now.

* * *

 

The Dragon Pit was less seedy than she had expected. It was a spot made for Jon, he looked so comfortable leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. “Jon.”

The shock on his face was genuine. Of course, he would be shocked, they hadn’t seen each other in years and even if they had, she was different. “Sansa.”

“It’s Alayne.” He didn’t seem surprised by that. He knew more than he was letting on. “I go by Alayne, at least around here.” He didn’t ask questions, though, and for that she was grateful.

“Should we...” He gestured to the entrance of the bar. “Go in?”

Sansa nodded and led the way. The bar was less packed than she had anticipated, but it _was_ Monday. She slid onto a stool and flagged down the bartender before Jon had a chance to speak. “Can I please have a whiskey sour?” Jon ordered a beer that she didn’t recognize, and the pressure was on before she could even take a drink.

“It’s been years, San— _sorry_ —it’s been years.” She couldn’t look at him, it was too difficult. Just hearing his voice was hard enough. It reminded her of what she had lost, what they _both_ had lost. Everyone who had ever loved them was dead or miles away. It was a bitter twist of fate that none of them could have predicted.

She was thankful when the bartender set her drink in front of her, but she didn’t take a sip. Not yet. “Have you heard from Arya?”

Jon shook his head; out of frustration or declination she couldn’t have said. “No.” Sansa hadn’t either, but she didn’t expect to. Arya would find her, or she wouldn’t, it made no difference. Sansa didn’t have anything left to give. “I visited Ned and your mum before I came.”

The crypts, she hadn’t thought about them in years. It was a memory too painful to draw upon. “Oh?” He nodded in affirmation.

“And mum.” He sighed, taking a long pull of his beer. “I left Ned and mum winter roses. I left your mum marigolds since they’re water flowers.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” The unspoken truth was that Catelyn would not have been so thoughtful if the roles were reversed.

Jon nodded absently. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“It wasn’t your job.” Sansa took a sip of her drink to hide the grimace on her face. “We were just kids, Jon.”

He nodded again, this time dejectedly. She resented him, how he could be so—so _Jon,_ even after all these years. Always the _bastard_ , never the _knight_. “Why are you here?”

Jon reached out to her, tentatively, as though if they touched they would ruin the illusion. She knew how he felt. “I’ve tracked Daenerys down.”

The weight of that sunk in. “And?”

He chuckled, which stirred her enough to look at him. “How did you know there was an _and_?”

The barest of smiles graced her lips. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ “Because I know you.”

“I came to bring you home.”  


	2. you don't have to be afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon finish up their conversation at the bar. Jon returns home to his aunt. Jon makes a surprise call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two already? Guess who is on a roll. 
> 
> I didn't give away as much in this one as I thought I would. Guess you'll just have to wait.
> 
> I tend to portray Dany in a more positive light than others, so keep that in mind. :)
> 
> Comments are appreciated! Kudos are appreciated! Subs are appreciated! 
> 
> As always friends, feel free to reach out to me on tumblr @weasleyrose. Tell me how you like it! Give me your predictions!

“My home is here.” Her voice sounded less certain than she might have wished. It wasn’t born of a strong conviction, which gave him hope.

“It’s not.” He protested. “You and I both know it isn’t. Your home is the North, it’s Winterfell—”

Sansa silenced him with a look. It was so like Catelyn that he almost felt remorse. Had she gone that far? It didn’t matter. She was his cousin. It was his duty to make sure she was safe. With Littlefinger, anything could happen. No one trusted him. “I’m not Sansa Stark anymore, Jon.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. He almost envied her, he wished he wasn’t Jon Snow. That name carried nearly as much weight as hers did. The weight of his family dynasty never failed to crush him. It was too much at times, so much that he felt as though he needed someone to share his burden. Though she wasn’t his sister, she was the closest thing to home left to salvage. It was the first selfish thing he had ever done in his life, going to find her. A choice that he weighed for _weeks._

“If only that were true.” His voice came out harsher than he had intended. “If only it were that easy.” He amended.

“You don’t know me.” Sansa insisted. “You never really did.”

“You never let me.” It was a low blow, but one he made purposefully. “Now there’s a chance for something good to happen, after all this time—”

“Excuse me for saying this, but you are _completely_ daft.” Sansa said. “ _Completely_ daft if you think there is anything left to go home to. It’s been _too long._ When I say I’m not _her_ anymore I mean it.” She shook her head slowly, as if to toss out the bad thoughts. “There’s nothing left for me _or_ for you. Your mum is dead. Your dad is dead. Your siblings are all dead. It’s time to make a new life.” She took one last sip of her drink and threw a couple of crowns on the bar. “It’s safer not to contact me again. Good luck, Jon.”

Jon sat dumbfounded, before he could protest she was gone.

* * *

 

“Dany?” Jon’s voice bounced off of the walls of the flat they shared. It was too big, too foreign. Every corner boasted some elaborate object from each end of the world. His least favorite were the dragon eggs that sat above the fireplace which were, of course, Dany’s favorite. _Fire and blood._ Those words haunted him in his dreams.

“In here.” The study was on his left. It was filled with books that he was sure his aunt had never read before nor ever would. Dany preferred to have knowledge spoken to her. She looked so stately sitting behind the mahogany desk that, for a moment, he had forgotten who she was. Who _they_ were. “How did it go?”

The question sat wrong with him. He still didn’t trust her, even after having lived with her for three months. There was something about her eyes, the way they seemed to pierce through him, that made him feel raw, small. He shrugged, not betraying the emotions he held. “She is important to me.”

  “She must be special.” Dany murmured, returning to the paperwork in front of her. “For you to go through so much trouble.”

Of course she didn’t understand, all of her siblings were dead, and she held no affection for Viserys before his accident. It was easy to become agitated in her presence, she had an air about her that reeked regality even though the Targaryens hadn’t held any sort of power in Westeros in years. His father was the last true dragon and had died before he was born. “Do you want me to leave, Daenerys?”

That was enough to make her look up, as he had hoped it would be. His aunt dealt in absolutes. Emotions had become a chore for her, one she only indulged when she was forced to do so. In order to appear calm and dignified she had to wear a mask. He had learned how to manipulate a reaction out of her early on. “Of course not.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. “Right.”

The mask slipped ever so slightly. _Trust goes both ways._ “I only meant that you seem to be running yourself into the ground, and it has been a long time since you last saw her. People change.”

He knew she didn’t really mean it, but it was as close to an apology as he was going to get. They were both stubborn, though his stubbornness came from morality, not from lust for power. The same could not be said for Dany. “I care about her.” That was the end of it.

Daenerys returned to her papers, though he could tell that she was not reading them. “What is left to you in the North?” _Snow and rubble_ was the unspoken remark. “You could do so much _good_ here in King’s Landing—”

“King’s Landing is full of liars, thieves and politics. All of which I—”

“Yes, yes.” Dany’s lips quirked into a teasing smile. “I know all about the incorruptible Jon Snow.”

The weight of the implication was not lost on him, but he played dumb in order to preserve his dignity. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep well.”

* * *

 

The second day of his mission was easier than the first. He had the whole weight of the Targaryen empire behind him, or what was left of it. They owned majority shares in a media conglomerate—well, his family did and they were all that was left—that broadcasted to every corner of the world. The company needed a PR firm to plan a party for some milestone that Jon didn’t care a lick about. Sansa, it happened, worked for the biggest in the city.

He told Dany that he would take over the business of the party, to which she stared blankly at him before nodding slowly. She didn’t ask many questions, whether to appear aloof or simply because she didn’t care, he didn’t know. He appreciated it, nonetheless.

            Daenerys insisted on having a driver accompany him around the city. Jon wasn’t naive, he knew it was for his own protection and he didn’t protest. Years of service in the Night’s Watch and the murders of his family had taught him that one could never be too over careful. It was especially convenient today— they were going to be in the most crowded part of the city and it would be nearly impossible to find parking. He instructed the driver to pull round the front and drop him off. The building was exactly what he had expected, the blue of the Vale standing out against the color of the buildings surrounding it. It was amazing to think that once upon a time Ned had walked the very same halls—it felt like another lifetime.  

            The revolving door sent him into a grey and blue interior. Plush couches dotted the floor piled with pillows and adorned with decorative quilts. The ceilings were high and draped with fabric to give the illusion of a silky night sky. A light fixture made to look like a moon hung proudly in the center. It would have all been very gaudy had he not known the history of the family who had once owned it. It _was_ surprising, considering the current figurehead, whose imagery was far more phallic in nature.

            The front desk sent him through to the elevators to one of the top floors. He breathed calmly, in and out, as he watched the numbers tick higher. 78, 79, 80. There they were, at the top of the world, it was now or never. The elevator settled and chimed metallically before the doors opened to reveal a rather plain office. The walls were feather grey and the furniture matched. Directly in front of him sat a secretary, typing busily on a computer. He strode up to the desk and cleared his throat. “I have an appointment with Ms. Stone.”

            The secretary waved to one of the desk chairs shoved against the wall. “She’ll be out in a moment.”

            It wasn’t a moment, in fact, it was nearly half past by the time Sansa immerged from her office. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting—Jon?” She took a step back, hands clenching around the folder she was holding. “You aren’t Aegon Targaryen.”

            “Actually,” He cleared his throat. “I am, _technically_. That’s the name on my birth certificate, at least. My mum re-named me before she died.”

            She didn’t seem surprised, or if she was she didn’t let it show. “Right, well. Shall we?” He nodded and followed her into her office.

            “About last night—”

            “I am going to talk, and you are going to listen.” Sansa sat at her desk and gestured for him to take the seat across from her. “When I say that it isn’t safe to be around me, I mean it. Littlefinger is protective of me. He has his faults, but he _has_ kept me safe for this long. He’s kept me _alive_.” She sighed, the picture of elegance with her fingers tented in front of her. “The Lannisters want me dead. You know it, I know it. _Everyone_ knows it. You can’t tell me for sure that I would be safe back home. No one can protect me. No one can protect _anyone._ That’s how this works. I am Alayne now, and that’s safe.”

            Jon crossed his arms stubbornly. “I have the weight of the Targaryens behind me. That means something.”

            “Money isn’t everything. There’s something to be said for cunning and wit, both of which you _lack._ ”

            “I _can_ protect you.”

            For the first time, Sansa looked sad. “What is left to us, truly? I love my brothers, but I cannot go to them. I love my sister, but she is a thousand leagues away—I don’t even _know_ where. The two of us together just creates a bigger target.”

            “What are you so afraid of? They aren’t going to send out hitmen after us. We don’t matter like we used to. The North was lost to us the moment they killed your father. Now we hardly pose a threat. We have a right to be in Winterfell, Sansa, but that’s all. They know that.”

            Something was holding her back. It was more than just fear for her life. “Are you afraid of Littlefinger? Surely he’s all bark and no bite—”

            “Petyr isn’t the problem.” Sansa murmured. “Do you really need an event planned?”

            There she was, at last. Never one to resist a courtesy or toss someone out. That gave him hope at least. “My aunt is celebrating an anniversary of the company.” The conversation settled into a dull one, with neither of them saying what was really on their mind. By the end, they had come up with an outline that he could deliver to Dany.

            Sansa subtly glanced at her watch. If he didn’t know her, he would think she was just adjusting the strap. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

            “Won’t you come to lunch with me? A quick stop, and I won’t kidnap you on the way back. Promise.”

            He could see her mulling it over. It was classic Sansa, the way she looked so _poised_ even in such a mundane situation as considering lunch. There was something to be said of breeding, he supposed, at least in the way her blue eyes clouded over just _so._ “I suppose.”

            It was better than a yes. He picked up the folder and opened the door for her. “You aren’t above street food, are you?” The mirth on her face was promising, as though he said something so ridiculously endearing.

            “As long as I don’t have to eat with my hands.”

* * *

 

            They settled on a kebab shop not far from her office. The smell was promising, and that was enough for Jon. They ate as they walked, winding through a small park. At first it was small talk, about the weather and how different it was from home. They tiptoed around talking about Bran, Rickon, and Arya. He wished they would talk about Robb. Talking about him made him more real. More _alive._

            “How long have you been here?” Sansa asked.

            “Three months.” Jon searched her face for any trace of that girl she used to be. The one with the practiced smiles. “This city is horrible.”

            She laughed at that, the sound like tiny little bells setting alarms off in his head. _Gods_ he wished they could just go _home,_ it would be so grand to just sit by the heart tree and talk freely. “It never gets better.”

            “Then why stay?” He wasn’t arguing this time, he was asking. She sighed, taking time to chew on a chip before responding.

            “Because, Jon. Because I deserve to be here.” That confused rather than comforted him, but he didn’t push it. She had been honest, and so should he.

            “I’m sorry about springing all of this on you,” It was his turn to sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I just think we deserve a bit of happiness.”

            She looked sad as she tossed her trash into the bin. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you.”

_That’s better than nothing_ , he thought. _That’s a start._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! xx Ash


	3. always down to hide with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa meet at a party. Nostalgia brings them together for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH so much has happened since I last posted a chapter! I'm sorry it's been so long! 
> 
> I'm @barristan now on tumblr! 
> 
> And this has been in my drafts forever. I didn't like the ending to I sat on it. I like it enough now to post it! Hopefully I'll have some burst of inspiration soon so I can get this show on the road! This is a short little baby chapter. 
> 
> Also, find me on pillowfort @jaimelannister now! I've established a little jonsa community. Come and say hi!

It was harder to avoid him than she would’ve liked. As it happened, it was harder to avoid someone when they ran in the same social circles as one did—though she suspected that he had rather forced his way into those circles. The people around her didn’t mind, everyone loved a token dragon—and people were starting to get tired of Daenerys.

 

He was charming when he wanted to be, which surprised her. She remembered her cousin as someone with little to say. It turned out his time as a commander had changed him. Jon was more refined, more Northern, than anyone in her life. It was a nice change of pace. Apparently, people had started to notice. Myranda had said: “Aegon seems to have softened you! I had no idea you knew each other!” Why he decided to go by that godawful name—conjuring the dead, really—she had no idea. He had said something about staying under the radar, but anyone with half a brain would remember him as Jon Snow. Anyone with half a brain and a search engine. King’s Landing had a short memory, though. That protected him for now.

 

It was a particularly hazy high society party, one where she had drank more than she liked, when he finally cornered her. It wasn’t like with Harry or with Joffrey or even Petyr—Jon cornering her was far less intimidating. “I have something for you.”

 

With the men in her life she always expected a trade-off. _I have something for you_ would’ve meant _I have something for you, what do you have for me?_ She wished that she didn’t stiffen when she heard him say that, but it had been a long time since anyone had done something for her without expecting something in return. King’s Landing was full of exchanges. “Oh?” Was all she managed, her throat constricting before she could force any more words out.

 

He smiled, soft as winter snow, and pulled his hands from behind his back. Each held a different gift bag decorated a garish pink. “Something to remind you of home.”

 

She took the bags and looked around. No one was watching them overtly, but she knew better. There were always eyes on them. “Come with me.” Sansa wound her way through the crowd, ignoring the huffs and the muffled cries of ‘Alayne!’ She led him up a staircase and through the last door on the end of a long hallway. “Lock the door.”

 

He did as he was bid and turned to her, sheepish expression on his face. “I know you’ve been ignoring me.”

 

Sansa’s eyes roved around the room, ending up on the bed. She took a seat on the edge as gracefully as she could and crossed her legs. “I’ve been busy.”

 

“Daenerys says you’ve been doing a wonderful job on the event—”

 

“Jon.” Sansa sighed, putting the presents aside. “You _must_ see that I do more than just plan events.”

 

Something dark flashed across his face. Something feral. It was a look she hadn’t seen in a long time, not since her brother had died. “You don’t have to.”

 

Sansa nodded. “This is going nowhere, don’t you see? I’ve learned how to stay alive, how to play the game. It’s a small price to pay for the safety of those I love.”

 

“Just open the gifts.”

 

Sansa did as she was bid, starting with the larger of the two. She drew in a sharp breath as she tore through the tissue paper. To her surprise, it was a photo album. “I thought these were all destroyed after—”

 

“I went back to the house before I left for the Wall.” Jon’s smile was pained. “I saved what I could before…”

 

She nodded, flipping the pages. Robb’s smiles, Theon’s smirks, and Arya’s grins flashed across the pages. They were all so wonderful, so young and unassuming. She traced Robb’s outlines slowly. “He was so _brave.”_ She whispered. “And so brash.” The memories overtook her, and for a moment she forgot where she was.

 

“Open the other one.” Jon had pulled a chair up to the bed and was leaning forward eagerly.

 

The tissue couldn’t cover the smell, it was something out of a dream. _Lemoncakes._ She hadn’t had a lemoncake in years. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought of such a thing. They were luxuries back home, but they were everywhere in King’s Landing. It wasn’t special if she could buy it at the market.

 

But here she was, lifting the plate up to her face with a stupid grin on her face. “You remembered.”

 

“Course I did.” Jon grabbed a cake and took a bite. “And you did too.”

 

Sansa picked one up and examined it carefully. “What are you getting at?”

 

“You’ll always be Sansa Stark. No matter how long you try to run. You’ll always be her.”

 

For the first time in years, Sansa felt Alayne slipping away from her—she felt the brown hair fading into a soft auburn, the winds of the North brushing against her cheeks. _It would be so sweet to see him again._ She took a bite of the lemoncake and smiled. “That may be so,” She hummed. “For today at least.”

 

It was well enough for him, something had shifted. The veil had been lifted just slightly, and he was glad of it. By the look on her face he could tell that she was too. Her return to Sansa Stark was doing wonders for her complexion. Gone was the waxen girl with the shadows on her face. The powdered sugar from the cake dusted her cheeks and he had to sit on his fingers in an effort not to brush it away. It wouldn’t do to scare her—he didn’t want to shift at all—careful not to break the spell.  “Tell me something,” he murmured softly.

 

“Hmm?” Sansa was gracefully brushing the crumbs from the hem of her dress. “What is it?”

 

“Do you remember when the snows would get high and we would hide in the hall waiting for father to come home?”

 

She closed her eyes, hands stilling their motions, and for a moment he was worried that he had lost her. “Arya always gave us away,” she whispered. “Because she was cold and impatient.”

 

“We never did it in the summer.”

 

“No,” Sansa smiled, eyes still shut. “Even when the summers were chilly. We’d sit in the springs for hours, waiting for father to scoop us up and whisk us back…”  

 

The past wasn’t gone, not if he could help it. They had their memories, and the people they loved weren’t really dead, not if they could sit and share their memories. “They’ll miss us at the party.” Sansa’s eyes blinked open slowly and met his with a defiance he had yet to see in their time together. It reminded him of Arya.

 

“I think they can manage for just a few more moments.”

 

Jon nodded, hands knotting together. “A few more moments then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! xx Ash


	4. you keep me up at night / to my messages, you do not reply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen meet. Jon and Sansa have a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, I needed an in between chapter to keep me going and keep the creative juices flowing. This is, in truth, a filler chapter. Daenerys and Sansa will have further encounters down the road, and Jon Snow will be bolder! 
> 
> I didn't love this one, but sometimes all you need is a little nudge in the right direction! 
> 
> As always, I'm @barristan on tumblr. I'm also @actuallysansa on twitter. Come say hi!

The clicking of Sansa’s heels echoed too loudly in the hallway as she wound her way to her office, a fresh cup of tea keeping her hands warm. A frantic murmuring startled her out of her reverie as soon as she rounded the corner. A beautiful woman with piercing violet eyes and hair like creamy silk appraised her. Sansa took a sip of her still piping hot tea, masquerading a nonchalance that she didn’t feel. What was it Petyr always said? Fake it until you make it?

 

“May I help you?” Sansa asked.

 

“You must be Ms. St—”

 

“—Stone, yes. I am. And you are?” Sansa was well aware of exactly whom she was facing. Everyone from King’s Landing to Essos knew Daenerys Targaryen— her fierce reputation preceded her. Diplomat, humanitarian, the last of her family bloodline. If the rumors were true, she also believed that she belonged on a throne. Her posture surly warranted a straight-backed chair.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen.” The woman inclined her head just so, a sign of respect from one peer to another. Sansa had to remind herself that she wasn’t a Stark anymore—nor was she a Lannister. Here, she was a Stone.

 

“Ah, a pleasure. Shall we continue this in my office?” Sansa indicated the door behind her secretary. “Myranda, will you bring us some tea and biscuits, please?” She closed the gap between herself and the Targaryen woman and held the door open. Daenerys smiled and allowed herself to be ushered in.

 

Sansa stood at her desk, weaving a careful mask. “Please, have a seat.” After a momentary standoff, they lowered themselves on their respective chairs in perfect unison. It would’ve been comical were they any other women. Here they were set apart, divided by blood and history.

 

“I was anxious to check on the progress of my party, Lady Sansa.”

 

“Alayne.” Sansa corrected gently. “I go by Alayne now.”

 

“Not to Jon,” Daenerys sat forward in her chair, leaning in as if she had a secret to share. “To him, you will always be Sansa.”

 

There it was, out in the open. She wasn’t checking on the details of the event, but Sansa knew that already. She’d been as thorough as she could, sending Jon home with detailed budget spread sheets, vendor information, and handwritten notes. “Ah,” Sansa folded her hands in her lap and resisted the temptation to flee. “Change is always difficult. What is it they say? ‘Life doesn't stop for anybody.’ Something like that.”

 

That wasn’t enough to appease Daenerys. “My nephew has been quite upset of late.”

 

Sansa met Daenerys’ eyes with a challenge of her own. “I imagine losing everyone you love takes its toll.” She unfolded her hands and placed them on her desk, palms down. “Of course, I do not have to imagine.”

 

“I know the feeling.” Daenerys murmured. “I do wish to see Jon happy.”

 

“Is that not what we all pray for? Health and happiness?” Sansa stood and pressed a button next to her desk, the door whisking open to reveal Myranda with the drink trolley. “Will you take tea?”

 

“I couldn’t possibly.” Daenerys smiled. “I have other engagements. It was nice to meet you, Sansa. Myranda.” She gathered herself, looking every inch a queen, and made her retreat. Sansa watched her go, hand lifted just slightly to keep Myranda quiet until the elevator doors chimed shut.

 

“Please don’t.” Sansa said thickly, anticipating Myranda’s badgering. “I have work to do.”

 

The threat was clear, concise, and thinly veiled. Daenerys Targaryen was giving her a choice. _Fire and blood,_ the family motto. How fitting.

 

* * *

 

Jon hadn’t heard from Sansa in a week. It didn’t surprise him, but he felt the absence keenly nonetheless. It was Monday—they had last spoken on a Friday—when he decided to make the phone call.

 

There was buzzing on the other end and then a crisp “Hello?”

 

“Sansa, it’s me.”

 

“Aegon Targaryen?” Her voice was courteous, and if he didn’t know her better he would assume she was teasing. “Unlisted, really?”

 

The phone number was strategic. There was something keeping Sansa from his calls, so he had taken away the option. “I had to be sure you would answer.”

 

“Hmpf.” Sansa ground out. It was an unladylike sound for someone so disciplined. “And?”

 

“And I wanted to know how the planning was going.” Surely, she knew why he was calling. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

 

“It’s a big town with a lot of people. It just so happens that half of them—or it seems—occupy my schedule. Time is money as they say, will that be all—”

 

“What _happened_ Sansa?” Jon demanded, an uncharacteristic edge creeping into his voice. “Was it the photos? I’m sorry if I pushed you too far—”

 

“You know, when I met Daenerys Targaryen in person, I always thought I would be introduced by _you_. Instead, I had to introduce myself as Alayne Stone, to a woman whom I had never thought to be affiliated with, seeing as her father murdered my uncle and grandfather.”

 

“You—what?” Jon clutched the phone tighter, willing the shaking in his hands to die down. Could it be? Would Daenerys really be so bold? Everyone said Rhaegar was the last dragon, but Dany had guts aplenty.

 

“I’m sure Myranda can handle the details of our communications from now on. Perhaps that will be best for all involved. Goodbye Jon.” With a click, the line went dead.

 

* * *

 

“What have you _done?_ ” Jon stood on the threshold of his aunt’s office, arms crossed and fuming.

 

“What needed to be done, Jon.” Daenerys didn’t even look up from her paperwork. She paused to cross something out before lifting her head just slightly. “Do you really think Sansa is the answer to all of your problems? How can she be?”

 

“She’s my family.” His voice was hollow, carefully devoid of emotion. Daenerys was a master manipulator and could smell fear from a mile away. “She’s important to me.”

 

“I thought Arya was the one you were close to as a child?” The question was posed as a challenge. Everything was about loyalty—to the family, to her, to the legacy—it made no difference. Jon still didn’t know where he fit in the grand tapestry of fate and was jealous at how _sure_ she was of everything. Nothing was left up to chance. If she wanted something, she took it, no holds barred.

 

“Arya can take care of herself.” Jon uncrossed his arms and rubbed his face wearily.

 

“Petyr Baelish is taking care of Sansa now, Jon.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! xx Ash


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